


Enigma

by SliverQuill



Category: Naruto
Genre: Adultery, Awkwardness, Desperation, F/M, Frustrated Little Brothers, Implied Slash, Jealousy, Loneliness, M/M, Non-Canon Relationship, Possibly Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 12:36:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1510637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SliverQuill/pseuds/SliverQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had always been an enigma as to why the art of Mokuton was lost amongst the Senju, some believed it's prowess was diluted, diminished by the clan's lesser descendants, other speculated alternate conjectures, ones just as inaccurate. But fact remains, there still is a reason why none of Hashirama's Senju's descendants could use the Mokuton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enigma

Konoha was a bore, it's plain, uninteresting architecture a far cry from Uzushiogakure's extravagant edifices. Uzu had its fathomless roots embedded by the riverbanks of history, still extending its ramifications as times bypassed and clans rose and fell in the names of pride, honour, blood and vengeance; Konoha had no history. It's foundations recently dug, it's people an awkward mélange of clans, clans whom fought and feuded with each other prior to the village's establishment. Uzu was a place of sophistication and culture, a place of enigmas.

Mito Uzumaki would often recall how her fingers would involuntarily twitch in delight as they ran across the undulating engravings, savouring the obvious richness in history that underlie those marbled pillars of old near the outskirts of the island, ridden with byzantine patterns and elegant inscriptions. Often a gust of sea breeze would run across her visage, on times such as these, she'd spread her arms, opening to embrace the upcoming winds, tossing away her hairpin, her crimson hair would cascade down her shoulders, fluttering in the salty air. She never bothered the sporadic tinctures of salty water sprayed here and there or when her crimson locks were whipped into an entangled mess; even if her mother would scold her for her indecorous behavior.  _As if kunoichis need decorum._

Kunoichi's of a prominent clan, apparently do. The women of the Uzumaki were instructed in the rigid processes of proper etiquette ever since time immemorial, Mito attempted to resist it initially, but Uzu's cultivated affectations managed to crawl its way into her. Now she remembers to always eat with her mouth shut, ornament her hair properly, stroll around the compound with a kimono laden with thousands of intricate layers and toned down her formerly wild, raucous voice. By the time when Tobirama Senju arrived at her village to request a betrothal for his brother, the renowned God of Shinobi, Hashirama Senju, the etiquette befitting a kunoichi of the Uzumaki had been ingrained within her mind as if it were always there. Mito had transformed into a blossoming young lady of 19, the traces of her wild, unruly child of virtually indiscernible.

**~X~**

She was ordered to greet him at the gate and she catches his eye instantly, mannerly enough yet without the usual meekness surrounding a clan kunoichi—a flicker of wild fire, defiance underneath her sheen of elegance, her sleek tresses fixated into two buns, secured by a honed hairpin: bright red, like fire. Domesticated fire perhaps, but domesticated fire burns just the same.

"Why isn't this Lady Mito? I've heard numerous things about you," he decides to accost her, retaining his stoic demeanor.

"Yes, and I'm hoping they're all talking pleasant things behind my back?" she smirks because she recognizes this as a blatant bait for a lie, the daughter of Uzu's leader had acquired a formidable reputation with her fuuinjutsu, naturally she was also a notorious hazard on battlefield for the opposition. Without waiting for an answer, she proceeds with her talk. "Tobirama Senju, I trust that's your name? Brother of the Shodai Hokage? Well, what have you come here for?"

He looks back at her in a hard yet courteous manner. "Now that you bought this up, I'll need to have a word with your father."

"Oh, about what? Shall I accompany you?" Something had tugged her interest, a spark of rebellion, in Uzu, kunoichi's seldom took part in the clan's important decision makings. Despite her fuuinjutsu prowess, Mito was barred from her clan leadership affairs; her duties lay only on the battlefield and in her house. Apparently in clan's like the Senju, women had equal statuses with men—something that had always intrigued her.

"If he see's it befitting, I'm assuming yes. After all, the matter's we'll be discussing concerns you as well."

"About…" Her voice trailed off, expecting him to finish the sentence.

"Your marriage of course."

" _My_ marriage, why haven't I been notified?" Indignant feelings involuntarily crept within her, it was  _her_  marriage after all and it frustrated her that she's viewing this situation like an inept bystander or a puppet enclosed within a glass case, observing its surroundings impotently as those around it weaves and pulls its strings of destiny.

"Well, truth to be told, I haven't told your father of this yet, it's the purpose of my visit." He keeps walking.

"Well that explains it," she snorted as she surveyed him.  _Not bad I suppose, not exactly the type of man you'd drool over but fairly good-looking. Yes, a life with him would have been fairly decent_. "So how's Konoha like?"

"It's all too soon to tell," he remarked. "But my brother believes it's the closest thing to peace we shinobis have ever came up with."

"Hashirama Senju?"

"None other."

"How's he like?"

"A happy and optimistic man, a nice fellow, even though he's a little over enthusiastic at times but you'll just have to bear with him."  _Even though he likes men, specifically Madara Uchiha, give them a few months and they'll be demanding the first Senju-Uchiha marriage_ , that Tobirama had forcibly neglected.

"Well I've heard that he's joined forces with the Uchiha, your clan's… past nemesis."

He raised his eyebrows at those words.

"What? Of course I know, everyone knows," she stated, pleased to have triggered a startled response from him, something other than stoic indifference.

Then his expressions grew glum and Mito wished she had never uttered those words.  _I should never have broached about that topic, now he'll think twice about his betrothal request._

"My apologies," she proceeded to reconcile. "It's hardly suitable matter for conversation, especially out in the open, on a day like this."

_She thinks I've been angered._  Tobirama surveyed the woman beside him, wild red hair, coal black eyes, dark but not dead, a hidden sense of mischief resided within them. Judging from their brief exchanges, though a little indiscrete at times, an affable woman too, with a dignified air. A fairly good match for his rambunctious older brother.

"You have no need to apologize, Lady Mito, I was just thinking about something else," he nodded curtly at her.

"Oh all right," she smiled warmly back at him. "So, when's our wedding going to be?"

_Oh Kami, she thinks I've come to personally ask for her hand_. Yes, why didn't he see that earlier on? Her tiny, minuscular hints of flirting, the way she desperately tried to initiate conversation, the way she instantly  _apologized_  after raising the subject of the Uchiha.

"Um… Lady Mito, hate to break it to you but it's not me you're marrying. It's my brother, Hashirama Senju. I've come to Uzu to ask for your hand in his place."

Silence dawned on the two.

_Why does this have to be so damn awkward?_  For a moment, Tobirama was almost tempted to walk faster and be rid of the woman next to him, averting his gaze from her face.

She raised her eyebrows, indubitably surprised, her complexion contorted in slight discomfort, then she swept a few stray locks from her face, desperately trying to conceal her embarrassment.

"I'm sorry Tobirama, I wasn't aware that… you were courting me… for someone else," she spoke rather apologetically, though he could sense scorn beneath her amiable expression.

"There's no need to apologize Lady Mito, misunderstandings can occur," he eventually mustered the courage to smile—in the least rigid way possible—and look her in the eye.

"Oh forget about that!" She burst out laughing. In an instance, all of that awkwardness dissipated.

"Why yes, that was pretty amusing, what on earth made you believe  _I'm_ the one you're marrying," he shook his head.

"Well, I never knew the Hokage of Konoha was busy, too busy to bother courting me himself and instead, sent you in his place," her lips parted for a small smile, they were lacquered with lipstick and looked seductively soft.

"Yes my brother's a busy man," Tobirama agreed.  _A busy man and too busy fucking that goddamned Madara Uchiha._ "And I believe we have arrived at your father's meeting place." He gives the door a gentle, polite little knock.

**~X~**

The renowned Hashirama Senju, God of the Shinobi, is gay. Mito wished she had known earlier. Her wedding itself would have betrayed no hint of her husband's sexuality. He had smiled, jested, laughed jovially with her, his clansmen and villagers in a boisterous, good-natured manner. It should have been the happiest day of her life; it  _could_  have been if she'd let her standards slip a little. Only the place, despite the head-planning chuunin's best attempts to furnish the ceremonial area with exorbitant fabrics, exquisite mahogany furniture and the tables with a vast array of delicacies originating all across the elemental nations (from the clams, baked until crispy, of Kiri to the eccentric herbal concoctions of Iwa), lacked the intrinsic splendor akin to Uzushiogakure's festivals and ceremonies. Some parts of it felt gaudy, kitsch, forced. Either that or Mito's moods weren't exactly the highest that night.

Her father had been there to give her away, her mother and cousins were seated as guests of honour whilst Hashirama and his clansmen, including the recently befriended Tobirama, welcomed them restlessly. People were talking, talking, talking, exchanging words of hospitality and inquiring for each other's tidings, later Hashirama had wondered off to where the Uchiha occupied themselves and stayed beside Madara, those two were guffawing over some joke in a way so intimate and it made her heart ache, then their cups had clinked together as they drank to each other's futures. Future. Hashirama's future would be with her, not some obsessional Uchiha. Madara seemed to have detected her  _intrusion_ , his eyes had settled onto hers, oddly protective of his cackling friend beside him, as if she had trespassed into his territory. Its irises were red and malignant, Mito resisted the urge to cower into her kimono and walked away with her head held high.

Mito would normally have been amongst the bustling guests, that night she found herself ambling aimlessly through the crowd, occasionally nodding a few polite greetings at a familiar face or two, but never lingering to long on a single individual.

Of course, when Tobirama found her, he had realized something wasn't right about her. He always knew.

"You should talk more, it's your wedding," he remarked before taking a sip on his wine.

"Seeing as how my dear husband is busily occupying himself with… you know," she glanced at Hashirama and Madara again, hoping none of them would realize. "I thought I might as well walk around a little, cool myself down a bit. So this is Konoha, the Leaf village, built amongst some great forest, a tad different from what I thought you know. I expected it to be more… chaotic, seeing as how it's basically a mash of different, wholly unrelated clans."

He only smiled back at her. "It's your new home now, best you get used to it."

"I'll do my best, answer me, does my now-husband usually spend so much time with Madara Uchiha? They've been talking for more than half of the night, straight after he had greeted me and well…" her voice had trailed off.  _Why am I asking this? Just what am I trying to insinuate?_

"They're good friends," Tobirama murmured with evident disapproval. The musicians changed tune. "Come on, it's about time your father gives you away, I'll take you to him."

"Oh good," she nodded. "You giving Hashirama away?"

"Yeah."

"So I guess we're officially in-laws now."

"You've got a strand of hair that's out of place," he glanced at her sleek, elegant updo, ridden heavily with hairpins and hairclips, her scalp ached from its sheer weight. Then, casually, he ran his fingers across that stray lock of hair, which lay awkwardly on the left of her visage.

"Thank you," she replied as they approached the crowd.

"There you are!" Hashirama immediately embraced her, beaming radiantly, his smile so large that it'll burst anytime from his face. There he is, kind and warm-hearted, loquacious as ever—oblivious of her discomfort under the envious, scrutinizing gaze of Madara.

When there lips met, Mito found the kiss unsatisfying, somewhat anticlimactic. It was courteous, friendly, even happy, yet it was bereft of passion, what should have been an inundation of exhilarating fervor seemed oddly platonic. There was no fire, no zeal, nothing that her cousins had promised her.

**~X~**

Her bed was cold again. A midnight stroll. Apparently.  _Bogus_. Despite his prestigious political position, her husband was a terrible liar.

_He's gone to meet Madara again._

Again. Again. And again. It was as if nothing Mito had did would ever stop him, she had hoped that the occasion on her wedding was a mere flux that eventually his regular clandestine visits to the Uchiha compound would cease. It's been seven months past, nothing has changed. Mito doubts that anything ever will.

Instead, it's always Tobirama who approaches her, Tobirama who consoles her, Tobirama who converses with her. Ever since she stepped foot into the Hokage's household, what she had received from Hashirama was cheery courtesy, contrarily Tobirama offered her company and comfort.

Just as her brother-in-law stated, Hashirama was happy, kind-hearted and optimistic man. Every once in a while, he would take her out for dinner and preach about the unending possibilities of the new village system, about how he'd like her to accompany him to the forthcoming Gokage Summit, along with his brother Tobirama Senju and Madara Uchiha. She found herself declining the offer. Why so?

_I've always wanted to take part in important councils, why, why, why did I decline?_

Hashirama had been slightly downcast afterwards, his complexion drooping in a melodramatic way, like a child being denied candy.

"Mito?" (no longer "Lady Mito") Tobirama's voice and knocking had disrupted her thoughts, fished her back to reality.

"Just a minute."

Mito hurriedly draped her lavish kimono over her thinly laced nightgown, barely concealing her flesh, ran her fingers across her tousled hair, then told him to enter.

"Tobirama what brings you here?" Although she had a vague conception of his purposes.

"Nothing much, just checking, my brother's absent again isn't he," Tobirama's brows furrowed into a frown.

"Gone with Madara again, I suppose."

"Again?"

"It's not the first time," she concurred.

"Mito…" His gaze shuffled uncomfortably across her figure. "I've been… keeping things away from you, you see, about my brother's… preferences. Though I think you may have figured out yourself."

"Oh, he's gay isn't he?" She blurted out involuntarily. "What's the big deal?!" She added with a snort.

"The big deal is his… proximity to Madara Uchiha. I don't trust that man," he shook his head and drew himself closer to her, his eyes were of a deep amber colour, penetrating, inquisitive and strangely appealing. "You know about the secrets of the Sharingan? The dojutsu of the Uchiha? They say it's in direct correlation with the amount of hatred they possess, this is why I fear that Madara's visual prowess…"

"May be a direct indication of his drastic mental instability? Tell me about it," Mito found herself flicking her hand dismissively. Yet, interiorly, her unease swelled. "Hashirama and Madara have been having sex? Right?"

Tobirama nodded.  _She looks beautiful like this; does she know what I know?_ For a moment, he paused in adoration.

"Aren't you cold?" Tobirama finally mustered his voice. Her skin was populated with goose pimples, exposed to the lukewarm breeze that swept in from the surrounding windows and her physique quivered so subtly that it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else.

"No, not really," Mito replied obstinately. "My bed's cold though."

"Need someone to warm it?"

She raised her eyebrows in amusement, and then smirked. "That could have been stated in a more obscure manner."

"I don't see how," he snorted in indignation.

"For example…. Would you like to accompany me through the night?" Afterwards, she exploded in laughter. "Okay… forgive me that sounded crude and…"

"Diabolical?" He suggested, chortling.

"You're a naggy person, a stoic, naggy person you know that?" Mito's laughter gave way to an endless guffaw.

"I've been reminded many times, by my brother, by my clansmen, by my students and by… you."

There was an inexplicable sense of gratitude about her look as she pulled him towards her, enveloping his entire perceptions with an impassioned kiss. Starting from a small touch between the lips, burgeoning into a dance as they tongues entwined. Her mouth was moistened as his descended into it, savouring the sweet vaporous taste as he caressed her hair with his hands.

"We shouldn't be doing this, no more than how my brother should keep his midnight trysts with Madara," taking a step back to distance himself from her, he shook his head.

As if understanding him perfectly, she inclined wistfully.

"This doesn't mean we can't…"

"No, of course this doesn't mean we can't talk to each other anymore."

**~X~**

"He left."

For the first time since their encounter, her husband's expressions grew grim and elegiac. She needed only to gaze on him once to recognize the look of a shattered lover, with maudlin nostalgia and irrevocable yearning for his other half.

Mito placed her arms around him.

"Who?" She whispered tenderly, even though she already knew the answer. Madara had deserted the village; it's meager limitations incapable of quenching his lust for greater power.

"Madara… How could he? Why would he?"

She did not know how to respond.

"I'm going after him."

_Again, Hashirama, why must you go after Madara again and again?_

**~X~**

"He's gone after Madara again," Mito lamented, voice hoarse as she wiped her eyelids against her silken sleeves when tears had started to trickle.

"Again…" Tobirama murmured, though this time not displeased. "This is the last time they'll ever confront each other, I have a feeling, and I fear only one of them would emerge out of this alive."

He regretted his words the moment they escaped his mouth, they served only to heighten her apprehension, and his as well.

It was late autumn, the chilling winds sweeping across the balcony where Mito had stood waiting; the sky was overcast as murky lead shrouded the earth, thundered howled restlessly in the distance and spasmodic beams of lighting scintillated against the greying, impenetrable canvas.

"Tobirama, should my husband perish, who would be the next Hokage?" she ventured, uneasy.

Another cry of lighting.

"My brother would come out of this, it'll be Madara who perishes," he replied, stone-faced and serious on the exterior. Internally, he was plagued with fluctuating emotions, he knew he'd be next in line,  _she_  also knew, he was certain of that.

"I hope so," mist emanating as she uttered those words, trails and trails of them, circulating in the air.

He nodded and spoke: "you're beautiful, even when you cry…" His breath warm as the tendrils of vapor pressed across her visage.

"I'm pregnant," she interrupted him abruptly.

"I'm glad to hear about that," he smiled cordially or at least tried to, the stiches of a simper transpired to be horrifically rigid, perhaps he was too used to his usual stoic manner.

"You're the father."

He froze, trembling.

"But… the child… it should have been my brother's…"

Mito glanced at him; there was an entreating air about her.

"Shh… please… it's still my child, I couldn't bear to get rid—"

He cut her short: "I never said you have to."

"I'm going to seal the Kyuubi within me. On every occasion of childbirth, the seal weakens and the Bjuu becomes more susceptible for escape. I think," her gaze lingered about her stomached, pensive and vulnerable, "that this might be my only child."

"Then I can only wish you the best of luck," he whispered before pressing his lips against hers.

**~X~**

Hashirama returns, panting, exhausted, expended, with crimson blood seeping through his crimson armor, his complexion rugged and pallid, drenched until almost drowning.

"He's dead," he uttered to her resolutely. "I… I… killed him." Then his eyes grew misty and he gazed pensively out of the window.

"You had no choice," she tried to console him.

He shook his head. "I'm unsure whether I did, perhaps…"

"There's no point immersing yourself in the past, pondering on what you could have done because what is done, is done. Hashirama… if all one does is lamenting on the 'what-ifs' of his life, sooner or later his present and future would be consumed by regret, time runs it's rills restively. Look forward, not back."

He inclined, ruefully and Mito wonders whether she had finally won him over.

**~X~**

The child had her hair, her bright red locks, a shade paler yet bearing no resemblance whatsoever to his father. Heaving, fatigued from the process of childbirth, Mito caught a glimpse at him and blessed the heavens. The chubby infant's brawlings sounded dulcet and melodious, hovering his stubby arms in a strangely endearing way and Hashirama held him, cradling the babe, free and frolicsome whilst his brother, Tobirama, momentarily scolded him for his flamboyant manner. Their eyes met and he gave her a genial nod.

It had always been an enigma as to why the art of Mokuton was lost amongst the Senju, some believed it's prowess was diluted, diminished by the clan's lesser descendants, other speculated alternate conjectures, ones just as inaccurate. No one else knew why none of Hashirama Senju's descendants possessed Mokuton, the secret was remained securely kept between them.

**Author's Note:**

> I've always shipped this pairing a little and it puzzles me why there aren't much Tobi/ Mito fics lying around. This took me quite a while to write ^.^
> 
> I've hardly written serious romance before so please leave behind some constructive feedback!


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